


The Lamp

by arlenejp



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock TV
Genre: M/M, suggestions of sexual encounters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2018-12-23 09:25:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11986932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp
Summary: A lamp plays a big role in John Watson's life





	The Lamp

Mary and I are engaged even though we've only known each other six months. There's no reason to wait long, so we're planning a wedding a year from now.

* * *

I've abandoned my small flat to move in with Mary at her house. To make it more comfortable for me we've decided that some new furniture would be refreshing.

* * *

One Saturday we find ourselves in a large furniture store to find a least a sofa and a comfy man chair for me.

I'm meandering, touching fabric on the chairs. I want something I can sink into at the end of a hard day at the clinic.

Nothing strikes me as suitable. Nothing says 'aha,' even sitting in a few chairs.

I've moved out of Mary's line of sight. Overwhelmed with the choices.

* * *

Of a sudden, a man steps in front of me holding a lamp in his hands.

He pushes his arms out to me with an assumption I'd be placing it in my hands. Curiosity has me stopped, and I stretch out my arms, taking in a teal ceramic gourd-shaped table lamp.

It's color and shape would do nicely sitting on the table, next to my comfy chair, if I can find one.

* * *

          "I thought this would fit your style well," in a baritone voice that sends shock waves through me.

I look up into his face and find it's angular with long dark curly hair and then those eyes-those eyes as I focus on them, deep, deep hazel. Electricity runs through me.

Almost as if a shock from the lamp's cord. Mesmerized, I can't move, continue to drown in his eyes.

* * *

Breaking the trance, a voice calls out to me from across the showroom floor. 

          "John, come here a minute," and I reluctantly turn, feeling my legs wobbly, I walk to her, at the far side of the store.

Not cognizant of the lamp still in my hands, Mary looks down to see the item I'm holding.

* * *

          "Oh, I like this lamp! That will work well in the sitting room."

Turning to the salesperson standing with her, "do you have a different top for it, I mean a shade. Maybe something other than the white, a light beige?"

He reviews the tag around the base, and runs his fingers over the computer, "How's this one?"I can get it in next week." Turning the screen so both of us can view it.

* * *

Not hearing a word they're saying, the man's voice still vibrating deep in my stomach, lamp in hand.

          "John, I like it. Let's order it."

All I can do I nod.

* * *

She takes the lamp from me, and I look around, hoping to encounter him, but he's vanished.

          "Where's the salesman who handed me this lamp?"

          "Oh, he doesn't work here; he was just a customer. Guess you liked his taste, eh?"

* * *

Mary and I pick our a couch and chairs. I keep nodding dumbly. My mood is such it seems like I had a bit too much to drink and I'm muddy around the edges.

* * *

Mary puts up with me, sensing I'm not up to snuff. Choosing a couch, I let her pick out a chair for me, granted it is one I like, we place our order.

          "We're not going out for lunch. You look poorly. I'll make something light at home for our meal."

* * *

Once home I sit quietly to get hold of myself. How could a stranger, meeting for seconds like that, disturb and daze me.

* * *

Working in the clinic the next day I find I have more patients than are booked, and decide to stay late.

I'm about to leave, at the door, which has a slightly opaque glass window, when I see a shadow outside the entrance. Probably another late patient. Ah well, one more won't hurt. I open up and move away to allow the man to come in.

* * *

And there he stands. 

Wide swinging coat, collar turned up, walking through, me following behind.

Mouth open, heart pounding.

Pivoting to face me, he leans me against the wall and kisses me. Electric vibrations are running throughout me, shock at the intrusion on my person, his tongue opens into my mouth, to probe, to feel.

I push my body tighter to him.

In an instant, he pulls away, grabs the door handle, throwing it open and runs out. Before I can ask anything, any questions.

* * *

Standing still for who knows how long my legs carry me to my office where I take care of the urge that gripped me during the encounter.

* * *

I walk through each day as if in a dream.

* * *

Mary can't understand what has taken hold of me. She keeps asking what is wrong, am I ill, but I refuse to say anything. I'm afraid. 

But the man keeps showing up in my dreams when I'm lying in bed with Mary. He's the one beside me, not Mary.

* * *

The salesman calls my mobile during the day to say the lamp is in the store. Texting Mary to inform her that I'll pick it up on the way home.

The store is quiet at this time of the evening and walking in my thoughts run wild, my expectation is he'll be there. I'll see him and-no can't see him.

He's not there, my eyes scanning, searching the store. I even find a moment to walk around, thinking I might have missed him while he was sitting. Not there. My body sinks.

* * *

Picking up the lamp, signing for it, I hold it close to my chest. Am I pretending he's close to my chest?

* * *

The lamp finds a home on the table in the sitting room and is a constant reminder of him every time I sit next to it.

* * *

Two days later, I'm at the clinic, and even my assistant Sarah is noticing a change in me. 

          "Getting wedding jitters, huh?" I let her think that.

* * *

A text comes into my mobile phone, looking at it I don't recognize the phone number. 

Something, a trickle of fear, no it's lust rising in me. I know who-as the foundation under me shakes.

          _Meet me tonight at Angelos at six pm_

* * *

At five thirty I leave the clinic to walk the two blocks to Angelos.

* * *

At the table right in front of the window sits--him.

He's got the chair pushed back from the table, legs crossed, coat on, collar turned up, his leather gloves off on his knee and his hands on the gloves. Oh, those long fingers!

* * *

I sit, and the waiter comes over, but the man waves him away. 

          "I'll give you and your date a minute."

          "I'm not his date," I say back.

Why am I tongue-tied? Why am I sitting feeling like the earth has swallowed me into a pit? A pit of no return.

* * *

          "Dr. Watson, would you have sex with me?" That deep rumbling baritone seems to echo in my head.

          "Wha--wait--you--what? But? What did you say?"

          "You heard what I said the first time Dr. Watson," his hands straying towards putting his gloves on.

* * *

          "That's--no way--not gay--not--," as I stand up, to the door and fumbling for the knob, let myself out and walk back to the clinic.

* * *

Into my office, trying to calm that electrical pricking that's churning around my self. 

He asked me to do what-and I don't know him, his name even. But he knows me, as is transparently obvious. But how does he know me?

Shivering with the sheer impact, he keeps having on me I unzip my trousers and release the tension.

* * *

I'm trying to avoid Mary as much as possible. I see her sneaking peeks at me, wondering. But I can't say anything to her. Besides, even if I did she would think me mad.

* * *

Again, a week later a text.

          _Angelos at six tonight_

No, not going, Not even close. Not.

* * *

Sure enough at six, I find myself opening the door to Angelos, and there he sits. Almost like he had never moved since the last time.

          "Now look, let's fucking stop this game. I am not gay. No, I can't-"

          "Dr. Watson, would you have sex with me?"

          "What the fuck is--," as his gaze pierces into my very inside.

The electric shocks to my system, the shakes. Stops me dead.

I stand, not so sure of myself this time, turn to the door, hesitating as the door closes, but I leave. The clinic my next stop.

* * *

Now it's getting out of hand. I have to take control of myself.

Getting back to the house I resolve not to answer his texts, not to see him anymore.

* * *

          _My place, 221B Baker Street at six pm tomorrow_

That text hits my mobile phone two weeks later.

* * *

No, No, No. Now that's too dangerous. Going to his place? Nope, not happening. I know what will happen. And it's not going to. No, no, no.

* * *

As if I'm a child that can't resist a candy and ask to have it put on the topmost shelf, I inform Sarah, my assistant, that I'm going to work late with her.

Take some of the clients so she can go home early. Now, this certainly will result in my not going near 221B Baker Street.

* * *

My eyes keep going to the clock on the wall, and five o'clock hits, and it's again as if someone has put my finger in an electrical socket.

My body is buzzing, screaming to get out of the clinic.

Feigning sickness, making all kinds of excuses to Sarah, I rush out the door, and into a cab.

* * *

221B Baker Street is in a ritzy section of London, and I bang the gold knocker at first hesitantly, then when no one answers I knock it a few times. An older well-dressed woman answers the knock.

          "Hello, my name is Mrs. Hudson. He's expecting you upstairs."

* * *

As I walk up the stairs, heart beating out of my chest, I hear a violin playing. A soft, lovely tune.

Upon opening the door, I see him, violin in hand. He stops playing and places the instrument very carefully on a table.

He's wearing a purple silk shirt that clings to his every muscle, every bone. His trousers are black and skin tight.

* * *

His hand stretches out to me, without thought, I walk to him, taking his hand, losing myself in those eyes, I stand on tiptoe and kiss him. 

Shocks of electricity from my lips down to my groin attack me.

Without a word, he leads me to his bedroom. The night takes on a magical, surreal feeling. Nothing makes sense, and yet everything does.

* * *

Awakening the next morning to an empty bed, I stretch like a cat. There's a note on the bed.

          'take a shower; there are tea and crumpets in the kitchen.'

* * *

In the shower, I contemplate what my life is now. I've had sex with a man, a man whose name I still don't know, a man whom I've only met three times and very briefly.

He's taken my heart, my body, and my mind. And now what do I do about it?

I have no idea what he thinks. Is this a one night stand with him?

* * *

I leave with a heavy heart but with a spring in my step. Will the man text again? Will he show up someplace? Will I ever see him again?

* * *

Leaving my house to go to the clinic the next morning a large black car is slowly following me. The back window rolls down, and a man pokes his head out.

          "Dr. Watson, please join me."

My head snaps up, "why should I get into your car? I don't know who you are!"

          "Dr. Watson, you are acquainted with my brother, and I'd like to know your intentions. Please get in the car." 

His voice seems a shade annoyed.

* * *

I sit in the plush car and look at this gentlemen. Evidently from money. Big car with driver, three-piece suit, very expensive, a bar with whiskey opening in front of me.

* * *

          "Dr. Watson, you have been seeing my younger brother, and I'd like to know what you intend to do."

          "Mr, whoever you are, I don't know who you are talking about, and besides, that is a personal question I won't answer."

          "Dr. Watson, don't play games with me. You know very well the individual I'm discussing. Don't play games with him."

          "Me?" as I point my finger at myself. "Me, play games with him? Ha! Tell him that!"

          "I want you to understand that if he is distressed in any way, I will look to you."

And with that, the car stops, and he leans over me to open the door.

The car takes off, and I didn't even ask his name or his brothers. I'm assuming it's my lamp man. That's how I have begun thinking of him.

* * *

Days go by without a word. I text a few times to the number I have but don't hear anything.

* * *

I'm now very distant to Mary. Don't want to be with her. Most of the time I sit and remember that one night. Relive it over and over.

* * *

On a night when I'm working late, and Mary has gone out with friends I'm home and eating dinner when a text comes through.

I jump, my heart pounding, my brain filled with I don't know what.

          _Goodbye, Dr. Watson._ No, No!

          _No, don't leave me. Tell me who you are? Why the goodbye?_

Nothing. I text and text and nothing.

* * *

Tearing up around the house I see the lamp, pick it up, tugging hard on the plug. It comes out of the wall, and I smash the lamp against the floor, breaking it into pieces.

* * *

Throwing anything I can get my hands on I finally stop, and sit in my chair, tears, sobs, coming out.

* * *

I wake that morning still in my armchair, seeing the mess I made still lying around and I see the note on the arm of the chair.

          'What the hell happened here? Tried to wake you but you were half asleep and angry. Must talk tonight.'

* * *

Starting to clean up, I admit to myself that Mary and I are finished.

If I can- but I know I can't rid myself of the memory of the lamp man, then am I really in love with Mary? By the evening I know what I must do.

* * *

She's come home, and we eat in silence only broken by the necessities of life. Asking for the salt, more wine, cleaning up the dishes.

* * *

          "Now John, is there a reason for this distance between us lately. Have I done something wrong? And why did you break that beautiful lamp that you, yourself, picked out?" as we are sitting on the sofa.

I stand and pace the room, so apprehensive, not sure how she'll take this news. "Mary, I can't marry you. It's not going to be right."

          "Can't you tell me what happened to change your mind?"

Telling her the truth is too ridiculous. She'll never believe me or think I've gone over the edge. Which I have.

* * *

          "It's been bothering me for weeks now, and I finally realized it. It's not that I don't love you, I do. 

I don't want to be tied down. I'd like to live on my own again. It's been a hard decision."

* * *

She begins to cry and runs to the bedroom. I want to go to comfort her, but I'm conscious of the fact it might make it worse. The spare bedroom is where I sleep that night.

* * *

The next day, taking off from work again, I take a cab to 221B Baker Street. Upon arriving I knock on the door, and the landlady opens it.

          "Mrs. Hudson, I know he's gone. Would you mind renting the room to me? I broke up with my fiancee and have no place to live."

          "Of course, dear, all the furniture is there. Bring anything you need.

He left everything including books and papers. You may have to clean it up a bit. I haven't had time."

Back to the house and I begin packing. All I have is my clothes.

* * *

And now the hard part. Getting over him, forgetting the spark he ignited in me.

* * *

I live each day one at a time. Working, going out with the blokes for drinks and sitting in the flat watching stupid telly. 

I haven't cleaned the flat that much. Each item reminds me of him.

* * *

Weeks go by, and little by little I'm starting to clean the flat, tackling the books and papers first. 

There are bills addressed to Sherlock Holmes, and I'm now assuming this is my lamp man.

I discover other papers with the name of Mycroft, whom I now conclude is Sherlock's brother, the man in the limousine.

I certainly don't wish to know Mycroft any more than I have to and certainly not to ask questions about his brother's whereabouts.

* * *

I do find a reference to a Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. Let's see what kind of clues he can give me in referencing Sherlock.

* * *

The police station is not far from me, so I walk in one day and announce myself. 

          "Dr. Watson is it?" as a tall older gent, silver hair stands, greets me with a warm smile and an outstretched hand.

          "My secretary informs me that you knew Sherlock Holmes. In university was it?"

          "Yes, I've wanted to contact him, through his brother, I found out he's not in England. Not sure whether you know Mycroft Holmes-"

With that, he scrunches up his face in distaste.

          "That man is so impenetrable. Can't get anything out of him, not even a smile."

We both laugh at that.

* * *

          "Sherlock is someplace in one of the Germanic countries. That's all Mycroft told me. Not even when he's due back. 

Tell me more about yourself Dr. Watson."

          "It's John, and how about we go for a pint tonight and chat?"

          "Let me put my affairs in order here and we'll push off."

* * *

Waiting about half an hour Greg finally grabs his coat off the rack, and he leads me to a pub right down the street.

Seated comfortably at a table, with a pint in front of each of us I have to craft my questions carefully, so Greg believes I know Sherlock well.

          "What's Sherlock been up to nowadays? I lost touch with him after university."

          "You know he dropped out." not asked just stated.

Nodding my head affirmative, he continues.

          "He's still a loner," Greg says, "Never with anyone. Sherlock has been helping me in solving criminal cases. Damn good at it too. 

His unfailing ability is so analytical. Observe as he puts it.

The problem with him is his overbearing disgust with people. He will tear into them and leave their lives open for all to see.

"That's him."

* * *

          "Underneath that is a man, who would love to be loved if you understand what I mean.

I tried, I was besotted with him for a while and tried to seduce him. He refused, wanting to remain friends.

How friendly were you while in university if you don't mind the personal question?"

          "Not very, but I understand what you're saying about him."

* * *

I begin to see Greg every week now. Can't get enough talk of Sherlock. I try to be sly about it. But I enjoy the man's company.

* * *

One night at the pub Greg surprises me, looking right into my eyes "John, when are you going to tell me the truth? I know you're living in Sherlock's flat."

          "Promise me you won't think me laughable, and deranged."

          "My, what has Sherlock done now?"

Sighing and taking sufficient breath I relate the story to him.

* * *

          "Now that's a new one from Sherlock. So that's how he gets it off? Picks up strangers and fucks them."

You know John; you're not a bad looking bloke yourself. You could find a man willing-" and stops, stares, and grins.

          "I'm willing, Greg."

          "Need to satisfy the urges?"

* * *

As I have nothing to say he stands abruptly, places money on the table, takes his coat in hand.

          " Let's go to my flat, John."

* * *

The night turns out to be good for me. But nothing compares to the passion and thrill of Sherlock.

* * *

          _That was good fun. Care for another?_

          _As much as I enjoyed I'd like to stay friends only_

          That works. Pub tonight?

          _I work late, let's make it tomorrow night._

          _See you then my friend_

* * *

My cell phone rings a bit later, answering it quite puzzled. It's the furniture store. Why are they calling?

* * *

          "Dr. Watson, the lamp you ordered is in."

          "What, you must be mistaken. That was over a year ago. We have it in our house."

Didn't want to admit I broke it in a fit of rage.

* * *

          "Oh my, one of my staff must have found an old invoice. We had ordered one. 

My employee didn't notice the date. Would you be able to come over today to sign off on it?

You don't have to take it; I have to show my boss the mistake."

          "Yes, I'll be over in about two hours."

And I hang up. How strange. I don't want to even look at the lamp. Too many memories.

* * *

Arriving at the store I go up to the counter and see the same gentleman from last time.

          "Ah, Dr. Watson. The lamp is over there around the corner. Can you get it for me?"

How ridiculous! He knew I was coming. Why couldn't it have been at the desk waiting for me?

I round the corner and stop dead in my tracks. There he is, holding the lamp.

          "Dr. Watson. You may need this again."

          "Damn you, damn you," Sherlock Holmes you have some heavy explaining to do to me."

My body is clenched tight; the desire to run to him is significant.

* * *

The lamp in hand, his coat swirling around him as he turns, beckons to me to follow and like a fool I do.

As we pass the sales station, the clerk lifts a hand in a salute looking pleased with himself.

* * *

I have to rush to keep up with his walking, his legs longer than mine.

          "Where are we going?" slightly out of breath.

A cab pulls up, me not noticing he hailed one.

          "To our flat, Dr. Watson."

          "Right, so now it's our flat."

* * *

Into the cab with me trying to formulate what to say, how to say anything, and failing.

* * *

Once in the flat his coat and scarf flung off onto the floor the lamp is put back on the table its predecessor had once been.

* * *

          "How did you know- have you been here before today?"

          "Don't act simpleminded, John, it doesn't suit you."

          "Not answering my question then. Care for some tea in my flat," scorn in my voice.

          "Come sit John; You deserve vindication."

* * *

Sitting in the chair opposite the one he takes he leans forward as if to emphasize the importance of what he is going to disclose to me.

          "I've played this game of one-time sexual encounters for years. It was uncomplicated for me. Provocative without the emotion involved.

That's how it was meant to be that day in the showroom."

          "Oh and let me guess, I was the different one, "all the venom pouring out into that sentence.

* * *

          "Do I have to spell it out in overly simplified words? As much as the electricity ran through you, it also found its way to me. I was baffled, disorganized.

How, in five point two seconds could you penetrate my awareness so thoroughly as to render me unable to reduce you to a mere pinpoint in my head. I had to resolve this. And that's why the attempts to seduce you."

He pauses, his head dropping between his legs, that curly hair I long to touch is wilder than I remember.

The pause lengthens. I'm determined not to break the silence.

* * *

          "I had to leave the country to do some legwork for my brother Mycroft, he's-"

          "I know about him. Continue."

I could tell he was struggling, but my sympathies did not lie with him at this moment.

* * *

          "I took into consideration that the further I was from you the easier to dismiss you from my mind. 

Instead, you were always there. In short John, I fell into my own quagmire."

Pushing out of the chair he walks to me and holds out his hands, and I, not thinking, not caring stand and capitulate.

Those eyes bore into me as he, in his voice now gruff with emotion, lets out a breath, "John Watson, I love you."

* * *

My mouth turns upwards, and all the pent-up despondency falls away to leave that electrical tingling now raging in me.

          "I guess, Sherlock, I have to tell the truth. I've loved you since the day with the lamp. I even called you my lamp man before I knew your name."

          "Do I have your permission to move back into my flat?"

          "One condition only," the laughter coming from me.

          "We live here together."

          "Affirmative."


End file.
